


Constable Martin Is Sorry He Asked

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:04:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Constable Martin asked a question.  Detective Inspector Robinson promised him an answer.Missing scene, Death and Hysteria.





	Constable Martin Is Sorry He Asked

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, MercurialBianca for beta reading and helping me get this sorted out into an actual story!

Jack observed Phryne and Dr. McMillan as they discussed the injuries sustained by the morgue’s latest occupant.  The doctor was, as she always was while working, in white coat, blending in.  The exquisite, dark-haired Miss Fisher sported a pale blue silk frock that might seem better suited to lunch with her friends, or maybe a bit of shopping.  Perhaps that was what she had planned this morning.

Instead, he was watching her here in the morgue, with Dr. McMillan, and the body of a young woman, who was not properly dressed at all, but better described as ‘draped.’

He reflected that Miss Fisher had shared many of the characteristics that had identified the deceased, a few hours ago while Mrs. Cohen was still alive.  They were of similar age and social status, although it did not appear that either Miss Fisher or Mrs. Stanley had more than a passing acquaintance with the late Betsy Cohen until Dr. Samuels had moved his practice to the Stanley residence.  

The two women had also shared an intense interest in sex, although Jack could not recall even the most vicious gossip describing Phryne Fisher as “consumed by lust.”

Now, however, the two women could not be more different. _Death by electrocution was not pretty, but at least it had been quick._

“Have you any idea what this appliance was?” asked the doctor.  

“I have a fast-developing theory. Given what Dot’s reported on the victim’s neurosis, Dr Samuels’ controversial reputation and the victim’s lack of underwear, I’d say an electrical massager.” Phryne was enthusiastic, and spoke rapidly.   _Another woman would use that tone for a new restaurant, or maybe a new book._

“A what?” Phryne watched his confusion with something Jack interpreted as amusement.  A long buried memory threatened to surface, as Jack’s attention was dragged back to the discussion here in the morgue.

“A vibrating machine with a range of applications…” the corner of her mouth lifted slightly as she explained.  “ to various, sometimes delicate, parts of the body.”  

“Oh.” Jack coughed nervously.  “Oh, that sort of electrical massager.”

“O-oh! Do you know what we’re looking for? Have you seen one before?”  Her blue eyes fixed on his, and he remembered that expression directed at other people during previous interrogations.   _Phryne asked me about electrical massagers.  I can't mention this in front of ladies._

_I've been asked a direct question, and it's related to the case. Damn it._

“ I was once ordered to raid a brothel in Chinatown that employed...:” Jack paused to collect his wits. _The ladies are Dr. McMillan and Phryne Fisher.  Rules do not apply._  “... all manner of interesting devices.”  

“Now that’s a tale I haven’t heard.”  Phryne’s attention was totally centered on him, and Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about it.   _If we were alone in her parlor, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell her this_ , Jack admitted to himself.   _Not here, not now._

“I confess I failed to understand the point of most of them,” he continued, hoping that admitting ignorance would halt this particular line of inquiry.

Doctor McMillan shot a look at Phryne.  “I have a friend who can enlighten you.”

“It was during my cadetship. The whole establishment made a lasting impression.”   _Which I have spent years trying to forget._

“Mr Freud would be terribly interested in that.”  The doctor’s smirk was getting rather irritating.

“I’m quite interested myself.”  Phryne’s eyes were luminous, and seemed just a little bit predatory to Jack. _Miss Phryne Fisher isn’t consumed by lust, because her curiosity just picks it up and shoves it to one side._

Jack concluded that there were some things that were never, ever going to be part of the case files.  Not in any witness statements, not in any evidence logbook, not presented in court. _There are some things that you never, ever talk about.  Like electrical massagers, and brothel raids..._

“So, what exactly are we looking for, Sir?”  Constable Martin interrupted.

_Oh, damn.  I'm going to have to explain this to Constable Martin._

“We’ll discuss that later, Constable.”

\----

Constable Martin nervously stepped into DI Robinson's office.  

The DI looked up from a file and briskly pushed it to one side.  "Close the door, Martin."

He closed the door, and sat, as directed, on the chair facing the Inspector’s desk.  The Inspector seemed still, and focused like he did at the beginning of an interview.

"Constable, I need to give you some very general background on this case. I would rather explain too much than too little, so please be patient."  He looked at his watch, pushed his chair back, and took two steps to one of the file cabinets, opened a drawer.

He returned, carrying a bottle and two glasses.  "Your are off duty," the Inspector pointed out, as he poured two fingers of the amber liquid in each glass.  He set one on the desk in front of Martin's chair, and took the other glass and the bottle back to his side of the desk.

"Yes, sir," said Neville, hoping this wasn't going to be an extensive summary of his failures as a constable.  It had been a strange day. He had found Miss Fisher’s manner disconcerting, to the point of bordering on inappropriate and disrespectful.  He wondered what a nice, modest, well-behaved girl like Miss Williams had been doing _there_ , at the crime scene, surrounded by those unhealthy, unbalanced women.

“About this investigation.”  The inspector lifted his glass, then set it back down without drinking.  “Based on witness statements and the injuries, Miss Betsy Cohen appears to have had an itch, and went upstairs to her room to scratch it. The massager was already there, and had been damaged in a way that made it lethal. None of our witnesses have explained how it got from Dr. Perkins’ office to the scene, although Dr. Perkins has confessed to removing it from the victim.”

Neville took a tentative sip. The burn of the alcohol seemed like a reasonable distraction. He had found observing Miss Cohen’s body at the morgue to be disturbing, between the faint smell of burning and the strong smell of disinfectant. The conversation between the inspector and the two women had been confusing, and more than a little bit familiar in a way that he associated with one’s chums, not between gentlemen and ladies..

“What was your impression of the victim, Martin?”  The DI took a measured sip, and set his glass down with a click.

“She didn’t look ill.”   _No, she looked dead_.  “I mean, she didn’t look like someone who had suffered the kind of lingering illness that would require a stay in a sanitarium.”

“Doctor MacMillan agrees with you.” The inspector tapped the file folder. “No underlying physical illness.”

“So it’s pretty clearly a murder?” _This isn’t so bad, the Inspector is asking my opinion._ “What is the device?  Miss Fisher just seemed to make an assumption.”  

“Which was correct. She recovered a damaged electrical massager.”  The DI took another sip from his glass.  "While we were in the morgue, I promised you an explanation of the nature of the possible murder weapon."  

The DI let out an audible sigh, and tilted his head for a moment, before gazing levely at Martin.  "I have no doubt you are familiar with the male practice of achieving sexual release by self stimulation."

"Sir?" squeaked Neville. It had not occurred to him that there might actually be something worse than a discussion of his personal failings. _Discussing mastubation with the DI would be worse.  Not quite as bad as the lecture about the danger of “self-abuse” after Granny Martin caught him…_  “That’s wrong and sinful.”

The inspector shrugged.  “The law doesn’t actually have an opinion about sin, Constable.  Unless someone is jerking off in a public place.”  Neville noticed a tiny twitch of a smile before the inspector raised his glass.

Neville decided that bolting for the door was not dignified, and that the Inspector hadn’t dismissed him, so he was stuck.

"The relevant piece of information, Constable," said the DI, "is that women have a similar interest in sexual release, and some women choose to gratify that interest by themselves."

Neville’s brain struggled to decode the Inspector’s statement. _Women aren’t like that. Not like men.  Are they?_

He certainly understood how quickly his own hand on his cock could get himself off. It was one of the reasons he preferred a warm shower to a cold one, as he had been ignoring Granny and all the well-meaning people who told him not to do that for quite a while.

The idea that women might have a similar experience was a new and shocking one, and Neville was not sure that the DI wasn’t pulling his leg.   _What would a woman do?_

Unbidden, his imagination supplied a picture of Miss Williams, in a bath.  Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, and her hands moving against her bare body where her legs joined…

“All women?” he blurted out.  Judging from how hot his face felt, he was blushing.

The Inspector regarded him without expression, and took another sip from his glass.  “Constable, female sexual desire is very common. I don’t actually know how common female mastubation is, because women tend not to discuss it.”

“Women are often concerned that expressing an interest in sexual experience will result in a man attempting to provide them with one, or making the assumption that the woman is morally defective,” continued the Inspector, frowning at his glass.

“Even Miss Williams?”  Neville heard himself say. _Oh God, think first, then talk._

The DI squeezed his eyes shut and brushed his hand across his face.  “Martin, it is not a subject the lady has chosen to discuss with me. I won't ask her, and you won’t either.”

Neville was silent.  He felt as if he might never speak again, especially in front of Inspector Robinson, who was now watching him intently.

“To rephrase,” continued the Inspector, his voice sharp.  “A discussion with Miss Williams on this topic would not be either relevant or welcome.”

Neville slid back in his chair in an uncontrollable urge to distance himself from the icy gaze of the DI.

“Back to the case.  Miss Cohen had an electrical massager in her room, and had removed her shoes and knickers, with intent to use that massager on a ... er  ‘delicate area.’  The massager had been altered to send current to the metal case of the device, which electrocuted her when she turned it on.”

Neville took a somewhat larger drink.  

“Now, the question which needs to be answered,” Robinson continued, making a small gesture with his glass. “Did the person who sabotaged the massager intend to kill _any_ woman who used it, or did that person choose to damage it because _Betsy Cohen_ was expected to be the next person to use it?”

"She was killed doing something equivalent to sneaking off for a quiet wank,"  said DI Robinson, frowning over his glass.  "If every man who ever snuck off and had a wank were to die, there wouldn't be enough men left in Melbourne for a footy match."

“Sir?”  Neville nervously lifted his glass. _Well, I really hope that doesn’t happen._

“While you are working this case, keep in mind that the perpetrator may have some unreasonable expectations about women and sex. Those may be part of the motivation. They may be the entire motivation.”

“Yessir.”  The right thing to say. Even if the whiskey was making him lightheaded, and an imaginary Dorothy Williams was doing sinful things in his head, and he was clearly going to Hell.   _Always agree with the boss._

“On the other hand,”  the detective wasn’t focused anymore.  “We can’t lose track of who has a motivation to kill Miss Cohen.  A disagreement with Miss Littleton?  Revenge by Dr. Littleton?  There was certainly a monetary motivation.  Some squabble with one of Dr. Samuels’ other patients?”

Neville felt a little disappointed that the Inspector hadn’t figured it out yet.  Although it wasn’t like they had a lot of evidence, and there were so many people in the house who might have had an opportunity.

“Tomorrow, we will be back at the scene. If anyone, male or female, chooses to share with you an opinion about women that seems to indicate either a willingness to kill ‘sinful’ women, or even approving the fact that someone else did... ”

“Of course, inspector.” Always the right thing to say.

“Don’t agree, don’t disagree, just let me know,” continued the Inspector. “Either Miss Fisher or I will want to have that detailed conversation.”

_So the DI expects Miss Fisher tomorrow.   I wonder if Miss Williams will be there._

“Any questions, Constable?”

“Sir?” Neville downed the remaining whiskey and shuddered.  “No, sir.”  

“Thank you, Constable.  We’re done.” Robinson made a gesture to dismiss him.

As Constable Martin let the front door of City South swing closed behind him, he felt a desperate need for a shower.   _It’s going to have to be a proper, virtuous, ice-cold shower, or I’m not going to be able to face Miss Williams…_

 


End file.
